Mist Warrior (23 page)

In the Name of the Holy Spirit who shines through you;

In friendship with God’s saints;

Aided by the holy angels.

May you rest this day in the peace and love of your eternal home.
”

The current caught the two flowers, they floated down stream and out of sight. Catriona turned to Branan
,
sobbing against his chest. Gavin wrapped an arm around Branan and around his sister, tears streaming down his cheeks. Branan embraced his foster-family tightly, his own tears escaping.

After a long moment, Branan finally found some sembla
nce of control and so did Gavin.
Catriona
,
unfortunately
,
had a much more difficult time and the two of them knew exactly why.

“
Come, Catriona,
”
Branan whispered into her hair. He moved
,
his arms still firmly around their shoulders
,
he escorted both Catriona and Gavin back to the tower. The clan followed silently then he heard Jaime's fine tenor rise in a hymn as they walked. It was a bitter-sweet
,
but beautiful memorial.

As they approached the tower
,
Courcy abruptly appeared. Branan hissed a warning through his teeth. Courcy's expression was no longer one of anger
,
but that of sadness.
“
Forgive me,
”
he whispered.
“
I have been such a fool. Please...all of you...please accept my deepest condolences for your loss and my sincerest apologies for my behavior.
”

Gavin looked at Branan his eyes red-rimmed and misted. But it was Catriona who lifted her head. She reached out to Courcy, her hand shaking
,
but her fingers tightly gripped his.
“
Thank you, Richard,
”
she said,
then released him and turned back into Branan's embrace.

“
Join us
for the meal,
”
Branan said tightly. He did not wish Courcy
anywhere
near Catriona
,
but since she had accepted the man's olive branch
,
he would support her.

Mist Warrior

Days passed since the memorial and it had helped Branan heal
,
although he was not sure about Catriona and Gavin. They had thanked him for a beautiful ceremony
,
but
otherwise did not speak
of
their loss
. He resolved to keep a close eye on both of them.

Although most of the work at Thistlewood concentrated on rebuilding the tower, Branan did not ignore their military purpose. Each day
,
he gathered the men to work in the lists. Most were quite competent and Branan found himself enjoying the sparring. Branan also worked extensively with the younger lads. If the situation had been normal,
young noble sons
would
foster with their laird,
learning to fight
, just as he had fostered with the Reignys. It was common practice and one that strengthened alliances between households, sometimes with marriages as the lady of the house not only raised her own daughters, but also fostered other girls.

Branan made sure the youthlings’
education lacked for nothing.
Yet this situation offered a rare opportunity. Because of Thistlewood’s unique community, Branan trained any youth who wished to learn. It mattered not if they were serf or peasant, freeman or journeyman, tradesman or noble, he taught them all and he taught them well. Perhaps
,
those of lower rank
,
could use his lessons
to reach
for a better life.

“
An interesting technique you have, MacTavish,
”
Courcy said as he approached the lists.

Branan told the lads to keep working and strode across the field to Courcy. He glanced at the mercenary knights sparring a short distance away. Duguald and Gavin had joined them.

“
The Scottish claymore has a different strategy than the English broadsword,
”
he said.

Courcy nodded, his eyes glinting in a manner Branan did not like. He drew his own weapon, leaning against it like a cane.
“
And you mostly practice with whalebone or blunted weapons?
”

“
Aye. Especially
with
the you
thlings
. I dinna need anyone felled by a simple cut which might grow gangrenous.
”

“
Still a man goes soft if he does not face a real weapon from time to time.
”
He paused and lifted his sword, gazing at it critically.
“
What say you, MacTavish, care to try that claymore of yours against this Englishman's broadsword?
”

Branan scowled. He had a feeling Courcy hoped to embarrass him publicly and prove he was the greater swordsman. A Kswoth whalsideways glance told him their conversation had gained the attention of the mercenaries.
Branan
knew could not refuse the challenge, especially with such a stern lot of hired swords watching.
“
Verra well,
”
he said softly.
“
I shall try no' to hurt ye.
”

With a bitter smile, Courcy stepped onto the list field. Branan hefted his claymore and followed.

Everyone stopped their work and gathered in a circle around them. Soon
,
they drew the attention of the women and children in camp and the crowd increased. Branan listened closely and sure enough the wagering began. The odds favored him
,
but many did not underestimate Courcy.

Courcy gave him a quick salute and immediately lunged, trying to drive his sword into Branan's gut. Branan quickly slapped the man's blade away and stepped to the side. He arched an eyebrow. Neither wore armor. Even though they worked with real weapons, this spar should not be as intense.
“
Be cautious, Courcy, or one may think ye have it in fer me.
”

Courcy charged again, his broadsword lighter and faster than Branan's claymore. Cautiously, Branan continued to defend. He had not achieved his physique lazing around his keep in Scotland. Hours upon hours of blood and sweat had forged not only his strength and stamina
,
but
also
a
formidable
defense that allowed him to wait until his opponent exhausted himself.

Silently they moved across the field, only the ring of their weapons echoed. Branan maintained his defense and sensed Courcy growing more desperate, struggling to find a
way to breach it and failing,
exhausting himself in the process. Branan waited patiently for the proper timing.

He again deflected Courcy's blade
,
but this time it went wide on the return stroke, leaving an opening. Branan instantly changed the tempo of the fight and launched his attack. Courcy barely managed the block
,
staggering backward. Branan used the greater weight of his blade and his strength. Each blow drove Courcy backward and opened his guard just a little more. Courcy's wasted energy now became a serious liability as his muscles could not find the strength to maintain his defense K hice="Garamocorrectly.

Although the claymore was slower than the broadsword because of its heft and size
,
Branan demonstrated that it could still be wielded with amazing speed as he snapped it out and around, clearing Courcy's block completely. Branan lunged, holding the heavy blade in one hand is if it was as light as a feather, the weapon an extension of his arm. With Branan's size and reach
,
along with the length of the claymore, he closed an expansive amount of distance. Courcy had no choice but to throw himself backward. He fell, knocking the wind from his lungs. Branan slid to a stop, his blade pointed at Courcy's throat. Unlike his opponent, Branan's breathing, while heavier than normal
,
was still even and controlled. The tip of his sword remained rock steady.

The crowd that had gathered roared their approval, cheering for Branan. Only a few grumbled over lost bets.

“
It seems ye are in a bit of a fix,
”
Branan said. He hesitated another moment
,
but Courcy said nothing, simply staring at the glittering weapon that could end his life in a heartbeat. Hopefully
,
the sod had just learned his lesson. Branan lowered his weapon and turned his back, striding from the field. He spotted Catriona watching. Suddenly
,
her eyes widened in horror and her face lost all color. He heard the noise of a heavy footfall behind him.

“
Branan!
”
Catriona screamed.

His heart lunging in his chest, Branan spun, barely bringing up his sword in time. Courcy's blade crashed down on his and Richard stepped in with a knee to the groin.

Shock and agony coiled through Branan as he dropped like a stone. This was only a practice spar
,
but now Courcy was out for blood. A booted foot caught Branan in the jaw and snapped his head back. He found himself sprawled in the dirt, his sword gone.

Courcy hesitated only an instant, a maniacal smile on his face. Horrified, Branan watched him lift his sword for the death blow.

“
Richard,
”
Catriona screamed
,
rushing towards them.
“
Nay!
”

Courcy froze for a heartbeat and Branan saw his struggle plain on his face. Kill Branan now and be done with it-and
destroy the betrothal contract.
Or allow him to live and maintain the threat of Branan winning Catriona's heart.

A roar resounded and a dark blur passed over Branan's vision. A man plowed into Courcy, knocking him into the ground. Branan blinked and saw Gavin. He drew back his fist and let fly, slamming it into Courcy's jaw.

Catriona slid to her knees and tried to throw her body over his.

“
Nay, Catriona,
”
Branan growled, shoving her away
,
but she clung to him with surprising tenacity and his pain still radiated from the core of his being.
“
If he slips away from Gavin, I dinna wanting him hurting ye.
”